


Crescendo

by Happers



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Love, Some feels, a bit of everything, or sort of love, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18823513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happers/pseuds/Happers
Summary: You feel as if Evie should come with a warning: "Those who come close are liable to fall (in love)." Even if that warning were there, you feel as if it would have been hard to stay away. She's beautiful, smiling and flushed in the low lighting, and you achingly want.





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Jack! Wish I'd been able to finish this, but this story gives me writer's block :( You get the first part of this at least?

_…And so the maiden blushingly said,_

_Right before she gave the man head._

_And as she swallowed his came,_

_He said, ‘what a fine dame!’_

You hum along to the simple yet upbeat melody as your fingers run over the strings of the beaten guitar with practiced ease. The pub is more than stifling with its woodsmoke and smell of sweat and sound of a dozen off-key voices joining in to the raunchy song, yet you smile as the melody continues. Perhaps you should be blushing and sputtering, as befits a lady of this time, and you should take offense to the words your friend is belting out in his typically deep voice.

But how can you be embarrassed, when you wrote this yourself? Oh, yes, perhaps you aren’t the one whose voice is heard, but your own voice is in the words, in every rhyme and every syllable, in every string you pluck. You know a woman singing such a song wouldn’t be as comfortable to your audience, wouldn’t allow the men crowded on the wooden benches to relax and drink and throw their coins so freely, and so you provide the melody, smiling all the while.

Not every song you write is so dirty, yet there has been an increase in the last month or so. Due to a recent escalation in crime in London, there was more scrutiny being cast upon shabbily dressed folk such as yourself in the upper districts, resulting in you having been thrown out more than once. Hence, you adapted. It was easy, changing your focus to a different, more vulgar audience.

And when the beer was flowing and the people were laughing and the fire was warm, it almost felt like home here, despite the threadbare clothes and the meager profits.

In a way, you are lucky. You are not out on the streets and you are not starving – most pub owners, including this one, will give you supper in exchange for providing entertainment and drawing customers, as well as letting you keep tips. It’s not something they allow every so-called “performer” with an instrument, but you know your stuff and everyone here, particularly in this run-down place of poverty and barely-paid labor, knows it.

Your reputation is something you have worked hard for, dammit.

It all started… well. It’s always impossible to put a start on anything, you think, but one could say it all started when your parents died due to cholera in a nearby well. To this day, you are certain that the only reason you didn’t die was because your father was fairly educated by Victorian standards (which essentially only meant he was able to read) and was thus able to intervene the moment he started experiencing stomach pains. (It had recently come to light exactly what the cause of the disease was – water, and not air, like everyone had thought.)

The worst memories of your life come from that time, of meager belongings being taken away and you being kicked out onto the cold wet street with the clothes on your back, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheese you had managed to grab.

It wasn’t long before the food was gone.

There were too many children on the streets – it didn’t take long before you resorted to pickpocketing, but you first attempt ended by being hauled in by the collar and a few nasty kicks in the stomach.

_“You’re clever. You can master anything in no time at all and learn two new skills in that time as well. Set your mind to something and no one will be able to stop you.”_

To this day, you don’t know why those are the words that stick in your mind, the only words you remember from your father, but it was those words that kept you going. You weren’t fast enough or sneaky enough to pick a pocket, so you learned to pick locks, to become part of the scenery and nick an apple or a piece of bread from a windowsill. Even then, you got caught regularly and it wasn’t uncommon to be kicked or punched and left laying in an alley.

It was quite by chance that the old and beaten, yet miraculously functioning guitar got into your hands. You’d managed to carry it off from a pile of garbage and as you sat by the bank of Thames, smelling the foul shite from the river and hearing the vulgar shouting and seeing the scantily clad women with rotten teeth and scars on their genitals offering their services, you knew that the instrument would save you.

There were a few places that kids like you, gutter rats, could gather. Anywhere there was an old abandoned building with space out back, there’d be an entire gathering of urchins, sometimes trading junk with each other peacefully and sometimes taking the loot of others by force. It was a toss up and it was always dangerous to go to one of these spots.

You had nowhere else to go, no other relative safety to learn. You sat in the corner of an old and withered garden, plucking the strings, trying to reconstruct snippets of songs and trying to find a rhythm.

_Da, da, dum, dum, da, dum, dum, da-da, dum-dum, dum, da..._

“Oi! I liked the last one better!”

You were startled at the voice calling at you. It was a boy in tattered clothes, perhaps a year or two older than you. You glanced around the makeshift camp and- _oh._ Everyone had gone silent, listening to you play.

Tentatively, you went back to the instrument, clumsily plucking a string or two. You almost had it down, a children’s song you had heard somewhere…

_“Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_

_How I wonder what you are._

_Up above the world so high,_

_Like a diamond in the sky…”_

The melody probably rang false at some parts. Scratch that, it definitely did. But the more you tried and the more you listened, the surer your playing became and the truer your notes sounded.

You noticed that your camp attracted more children than ever before. And they were all there to hear you play.

Why? You did not understand. Why would they want to hear an amateur such as you play?

It took a few months before you realized. At that point, you were sure your playing was at least as good as that of some of the musicians performing in the streets. But as you came to pay more attention to that kind of life, you began realizing; no establishment, no part of the city, except for the factories, particularly cared for you orphans on the street. You saw it, experienced it, so many times – just the sight of your childish, dirt-stained face causing you to be chased away.

It became your main motivation for playing. Of course, you still had to scavenge for food, but when you weren’t doing that, you were at one of the bigger camps playing, letting everyone listen. You saw more than a dozen children, the young ones, burst into tears at hearing music, _for them,_ after being on their own for so long, and you thought some of the older ones were affected as well.

Often, they would approach you, and ask you if you knew a song or a rhyme or a poem. More often than not, you didn’t know it, but you asked them to tell you the words and try to hum the melody. You could never replicate the song perfectly, it would usually become an amalgamation of various tunes and songs, but it was something. Sometimes you would try your own hand, try to create melodies on your own and those didn’t turn out too bad either.

Most of the children liked or loved your music, but of course, there were exceptions. The first time a stocky boy marched up to you and barked out, “Stop tha’ damn playin’ befo’e I make ya, ya cunt!” you damn well almost dropped the instrument in shock.

You weren’t a confrontational person and were shite at fighting, but you still stood up, ready to protect your guitar till your dying breath.

“Quit it!” called someone else. Another boy.

“Yeh, let her play!” a girl this time.

“Piss off!”

“Go away!”

“Yer the cunt, cunt!”

The boy ended up only pushing you before stomping away.

It was like playing the instrument had given you some sort of special place in the community. Sometimes, when someone managed to find an extraordinary amount of food (admittedly, an extraordinary amount was a loaf of bread or an entire apple), you would be one of the people they might share with. Sharing was such a rare thing to happen that it made your heart warm every time, filling you with determination.

It was a good year or two since you started playing, started focusing all of the time not spent sleeping or gathering or eating on a single instrument that would become your livelihood when you met your friend and present-day partner, Ben with messy brown curls and equally brown eyes.

“Hey.” A soot-faced boy, perhaps two or three years older than you walked up to you as you were peacefully stringing, trying to figure out a system to jot down the melody that you’d been perfecting for some time with a block of charcoal and an old brick.

You were always wary when anyone approached you. You had a decent standing in the hierarchy because of your playing, but it wasn’t a good idea to be too sure of anything. And so when you turned your face toward him the last thing you expected to hear was, “Teach me how to play.”

“’s mine. Get y’ur own.”

“But I wan’ try.”

“No, ‘s _mine.”_

“I wan’ play music too.”

“Then go find a drum or sumthin’.”

“How do I get one o’ those?”

An unlikely friendship began then and there.

-

The music stops as you play the last chord, quite literally ending on a high note. There are whistles and clapping and a steady chant of “Another one! Another one!” is already going up and despite yourself you smile. It’s not a high-end house with a library and a private tutor to teach you mathematics, but it is a life you’ve built up for yourself. A flare of pride and contentment sparks in your chest and you start the notes for the next song with a smile on your face.

-

Ben is great, not only because he is your partner and a man, which means he’s able to be your proxy for doing things you yourself can’t do (see: singing dirty songs for profit), but one of the biggest benefits of keeping him around is definitely the fact that he diverts unwanted attention. You, as his partner, are always assumed to be his _partner,_ and when that alone isn’t enough to scare off perverts, he has no issue scaring them off himself. (Fortunately, you’ve been here a few times already and the patrons here know better by now.) The entire arrangement is fantastic as far as you’re concerned because, ah…

Your interests most certainly do not lay in the direction of men, would be the diplomatic way of putting it.

The plain way of putting it was that you prefer women and the idea of any man shoving his dick anywhere in your vicinity makes you preemptively disgusted.

It isn’t something that you can be open about, at least not yet, but the existence some of the parlors and girl houses in different parts of town…

Well.

Perhaps there might come a day when you won’t have to hide your interest or pretend it to be merely and “extension” of friendship.

Speaking of which…

The show ended some time ago and you’ve long since finished off your supper, now amusing yourself by sitting at the bar and sipping your beer while Ben makes a fool of himself – is he _gambling_ – with the other men.

You sigh, staring forlornly into your beer. It has been too long since you’ve last been with a woman. And dammit, it isn’t like you are super horny or something – it is just rare enough to find a disease-free partner, so you always want to enjoy as much sex as possible. And oh, did you _enjoy-_

Sigh. Not enjoying anything anymore.

You had a regular partner up until a few days ago. In fact, it was the longest…arrangement you’ve ever had with anyone.

But it always ended the same way.

“You’re great and all, but…”

“…this really can’t be permanent…”

“…how am I supposed to feed myself?”

“…so I need to find a husband.”

Always the same thing.

“I hate men,” you grumble to yourself as you set your drink down on the wood of the bar, quickly checking to make sure the bartender isn’t in sight. Nope, all the men are still hollering and laughing in the center of the room, and wait, is that-

“Tell me about it.”

You actually jump, just barely managing not to fall from your stool and break your neck (and wouldn’t that be a pathetic death?), whipping your head around to see who it is.

A smallish woman in a dark cloak is sitting perhaps two stools down from you – it’s a miracle she managed to hear what you said from over there. You study her carefully. Black hair pulled up into some sort of elaborate hairstyle and pale skin. Her clothes are obviously well-made, thick and much sturdier than the threadbare fabric that is all too common, and you spot a flash of metal and her belt and by her cuff, which instantly puts you on alert. _Wealthy and dangerous,_ your mind supplies instantly. Not a good combination.

You bite your lip, contemplating. It would be dumb to poke further. Very dumb. Your life might become so much more difficult just because you happen to talk to this one – _wealthy and dangerous!_ – woman. On the other hand, it’s a mystery. Who is she and why is she here? Why does she seem to be carrying weapons? Is she trouble? Is she not trouble? _Who is she?_

You are about to turn away, go back to your beer in peace, but then she turns to look at you, perhaps sensing your stare and- _you are gone._

Farewell, world, it has been a good run. She has the most brilliant blue eyes and such a soft, plump, _kissable_ mouth and _freckles,_ so many freckles, all over her face. Are they all over her body? Do they create trails, allow one to stroke over them in patterns, making a path all the way down to her-

“Do you need something?” Her voice, though the tone is sharp, is beautifully pitched, and at this point it seems you’ll find absolutely everything about this woman absolutely mesmerizing.

You clear your throat awkwardly, somehow managing to tear your eyes off her face, and fix your gaze a good two inches right of her shoulder.

“A-h, no, I do not, ah, need anything,” you manage to get out and instantly wish for a storm to come and for a bolt of lightning to strike you where you stand because this is _horrible._

Her eyebrows furrow and, oh, she’s suspicious because _why shouldn’t she be, you’re turning into one of those perverts that ogle young girls._

“Why were you staring at me then?”

If there is a God, he hates you and is laughing at you right now. You drop your head in your hands and make a strangled noise, glad you can avoid looking at her. “Because,” you choke out, “I’m sorry, you’re just the _most beautiful woman ever and please don’t stab me._ ” It all comes out a garbled mess and you almost hope she didn’t understand a word.

There isn’t a risk of you being arrested or anything as ridiculous, really, unless this woman is very powerful, and this _definitely isn’t a good time to test that._

You peek up through your fingers and get to see her, the woman, you still need a name, looking absolutely flabbergasted and is that-? That’s a blush, spreading down from those freckled cheeks, and now she just looks adorable. Maybe you can salvage this, much the same way a looter can salvage the splinters from a broken ship.

“…I’m sorry, can we move past that?” You quickly introduce yourself, “…and your name is?”

“Evie,” she says, her voice pitched high from the obvious surprise still.

“Right, uh,” you clear your throat, searching for a few seconds before striking gold. “You said you hate men too. Why is that?”

Her eyebrows furrow in an irritated expression, her cowl finally coming down in one elegant movement. “My _brother,_ ” she begins and instantly all traces of shock and awkwardness are gone as she regales you with tales about her twin brother, who honestly sounds like an idiot, and you relocate to the stool next to her.

Just so that you can better hear, of course.

-

It’s perhaps an hour or two later that you escort Evie out of the tavern, ducking a flying tankard and making a rude gesture in the direction it had come from. You’re then standing in the chilly night air and laughing because, “He did _what?”_ Evie lets out a breath of air that could almost be classified as a snort as she tells you again. There are details that are conspicuously missing or ones that don’t fit (obviously made up), but you don’t push, the same way you don’t ask why she wears weapons.

In fact, you are much more fascinated by the way there’s a flush riding the top of her cheeks, right beneath those delicious-looking freckles, and the way she sometimes giggles, obviously still feeling the effect of those few rounds of gin. You think you must look at least a little bit smitten, but right now it doesn’t matter because you also drank, and your body is still nice and warm, and everything feels _amazing._

Evie must catch you staring because her smile wavers and becomes something smaller, almost shyer. “Why’re you looking at me?”

Your breath catches and you think that surely, she must know the answer because you already told her, but you feel a little wobbly and maybe it’s not such a bad idea to repeat yourself. “’cause yer beautiful.” Any other time, you’d probably be embarrassed, but now you only have eyes for the way her cheeks go redder still.

She bites her lip and asks, “Is that-um. Is that something you can do?” The question confuses you.

“What-what part? Where I like ya?” Your mouth runs on automatic before you can stop it. “Where I wanna kiss ya?” Her eyes go wide, and she ducks her head and you realize what you’ve said. The cold air is making you sober up and your face warms. “Sorry-um. Sorry. ‘s not somethin’ that makes people comfortable.” The last part comes out as a mumble.

Evie lifts her head and looks uncertain about something. At that moment a wave of noise can be heard from the tavern and you turn your head to frown at the building. When you turn back Evie looks decidedly more certain. “What if-“She starts, then stops. “What if I-um, want to try that? At least a bit?”

You feel your heart speed up in your chest and you think a dopey smile is on your face because- she really is gorgeous. You waste no time stepping forward until you are inches apart, eyes level. “Is this okay?” you ask. You feel her breath as she lets out a surprised gasp.

She hesitates a few moments, but then she nods.

Your hands go up to frame her cheeks and you lean forward slowly, giving her time to back out if she wants to, but she stays in place, her breath becoming shaky. Your lips meet, and hers are lush and warm and you tentatively increase pressure. She doesn’t do much, kisses back only the slightest bit as if unsure, but it is still a goddamn revelation, having this black-haired angel let you kiss her on the street outside a tavern, in the dark, not like some illicit tryst, but as two strangers who’d met over a drink.

You pull back and she meets your eyes unflinchingly. You keep your hands where they are, framing her face. “Is this okay?” you breathe, asking again.

She smiles a little bit. “Yeah, it’s-“ she colors a little again. “I haven’t done this much, so. But I like this.”

You know you are grinning like a fool as you lean in again and this time the kiss lasts a little longer. Evie reciprocates a little more, but she really is inexperienced, turning the kiss clumsy. You delight in taking the lead, pushing and sucking just a bit to show her what to do. This time it’s a little wetter, a little less innocent, her hands migrating onto your shoulders. When you pull back, the sight of her slowly opening her eyes and smiling is one you think you’ll cherish until the day you die.

You can’t resist whispering a little “Is it good?” before watching her cheeks color just a bit more. She bites her bottom lip and nods, still shy, and you can’t help but to kiss her again and again and again. You don’t know how long you stand there, just kissing, but soon you’re out of breath and panting and Evie doesn’t look much better.

It’s unfortunate, the way your ingrained instincts soon kick in. What you’re doing may not be punishable by death exactly, but it is still frowned upon and you know that as infrequent as they may be, police patrols still walk this part of the city.

You catch Evie, both hands on her cheeks, hers on your shoulders, and watch for a second as her expression turns confused. She has shed the embarrassment now, eyes fixed on your lips with want, and a spike of lust curls in your lower belly at the sight.

Your thumb catches her lower lip as you speak. “We should move,” you breathe out. “’s not the friendliest place here for this.” You feel your heart speed up in your chest even more than it already is as you ask the crucial question. “I have,” you lick your lips and start again. “I have a room up in the inn.” Technically, it’s your and Ben’s room, but you don’t really care about exiling your friend for a night. He’s resourceful, he can deal, and you can always beg forgiveness later. “Would you like to spend the night?”

The flush that had been fading comes back at full force at this and it only takes a few moments of consideration before Evie breathes out a soft “Yeah.”

Giddiness fills your chest and you take her hand in yours with a secretive smile and open the inn door again to check the situation inside. Ben is still drinking in the middle of the room and as far as you can tell, no one is paying attention to anything outside the dice on the table. Quickly, you two slip in and hug the outer edges of the room before moving silently up the stairs. You find yourself stifling a giggle and smiling at Evie like a loon, getting an answering grin back. You don’t know why, but something feels so incredibly _right_ about this, like this is where you’ve always been meant to be.

When the door to the room closes, you waste no time grabbing Evie by the waist and tackling her to the bed, being met with a surprised gasp at this. You grin at her befuddled look as she lays on the bed before a glint enters her eyes and she flips your positions over, diving at your lips with enthusiasm. She moves from your lips to mouth along your jaw and neck, and you tip your head back, letting out a groan. She sucks here and there, idly kissing and nipping as the urge strikes her, but it’s not long before she pauses, obviously unsure of what to do next.

Your hands move downward to catch the edge of your shirt, slipping it upwards and over your head. Once you’ve thrown it (not looking where it landed), you move to Evie’s shirt, this time moving much more slowly once you’ve caught it. You inch the hem across her belly and to her breasts, purposely stopping and catching Evie’s eye. It takes her a few moments to realize that you are silently asking permission and she nods breathlessly.

Once the garment is discarded and her chest is bared, you feel your mouth water. Her breasts are pale and beautifully rounded, just the right size to be grabbed, and so you do just that. The nipples are a pale pink, already hardened, so you waste no time putting your mouth on one of them, circling it with your tongue and sucking just a bit. The noise Evie makes in response is makes another spike of heat shoot through your lower abdomen.

You alternate sucking on her nipples as Evie continues sighing and gasping. Your position somehow migrates so that you are now sitting against the headboard with Evie in your lap, clutching at your hair while your hands cup those perfect breasts.

The door starts to open.

You recognize the silhouette stumbling through the door immediately, so you barely pause in what you’re doing to shout, “Go away!” Your hand blindly grabs the first available object, which is the pillow from the bed, and you throw it in Ben’s general direction. Just before the door slams you hear a string of curses. You grin and are about to get back to the lover demanding your attention when Evie’s hands on your face stop you.

“Who was…” she starts to ask, despite the pants coming from her.

You groan, interrupting the question. “’s just Ben,” you mumble, “he’ll get ov’r it.”

Evie bites her lip, still looking uncertain. In response, you take her by the shoulders and gently flip your positions so that she is now the one against the headboard. She looks quizzical, but doesn’t ask what you’re doing, seemingly content to wait.

You give her your best devilish smile and start moving lower from her breasts, pressing a trail of kisses down her belly and to the edge of her trousers. Carefully, you slide them off, revealing pale, smooth thighs and legs that go on for _miles._ Even more carefully, you take her smallclothes and remove those as well, leaving Evie naked. Looking up, you meet her eyes and note with delight that she has gone a very pretty red that spreads all the way to her chest.

You give her a wicked grin, then dive in. The moan she lets out as you sharply suck her clit into your mouth is _exquisite._

You bring her off like that, mouth on her clit while two of your fingers work in and out of her heat. (God, she is so incredibly tight and hot. You have no words to describe how amazing she feels.) As she comes, Evie lets out an unintelligible shout and as your fingers work her through orgasm you look up to watch her face.

Her eyes are screwed shut and her head tipped back, baring the lovely pale column of her neck. Her hands are clenching sporadically in your hair, bringing just the slightest bit of pain with them. You can feel everything in this moment and you’re already instinctually memorizing every detail, every single freckle on Evie’s revealed skin and the way her eyes are half-lidded, only just starting to focus on her surroundings.

You make your way up her body to look her in the eyes and brush her lips with yours. “Hey,” you murmur gently.

A slow, shy smile works its way onto her face like a sail unfurling and it causes starbursts in your chest. “Hey, yourself.” Her voice is breathy and beautiful, still strained from her orgasm. You know you’re grinning like a fool, but you just can’t stop. You think if you weren’t already so conditioned to hide your heart, you would already be half in love with her.

You slowly guide her hand, teach her how to enter you and curl her fingers and squeeze. You’re on your back and you’re panting as this goddess sits on your hips and kisses you and brings you off with her fingers and you’re in heaven.

As you curl up and go to sleep, you’re already dreading the fact that tomorrow will ever come.


End file.
